


Penfriends

by wynnebat



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Auror Harry Potter, First Meetings, HP: EWE, M/M, Pen Pals, Post-Hogwarts, all fantastic beasts characters are alive and hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Harry and his entirely platonic, semi-anonymous pen pal are meeting for the first time."You have that look on your face again," Ron says."The look of platonic companionship," Harry replies. It's afriendshipobsession.





	Penfriends

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Thursday Vignette [Week of 10-18-18](http://www.roughtrade.org/the-workshop/topic/october-18-2018/) on the Rough Trade forum.

"Mate, are you sure about this?" Ron asks for the third time.

Harry presses the lid of his school trunk down more firmly than he'd intended. It shuts with a familiar loud click that strikes a sense memory that Harry hadn't even known he had. He hasn't used this trunk since his Hogwarts days, but he remembers the satisfying click of packing all his things inside it every time he left the Dursleys, as well as opening it on his first night at Hogwarts. He and Ron would unpack together, throwing their robes and other clothes in the wardrobes next to each bed and their schoolbooks, quills, and parchment in a messy pile on their individual desks.

Six years later, he and Ron have adjoining desks in the large bullpen that all the junior aurors have to put up with until they snag a proper promotion. Their desks are mildly more organized than they were at school, and that's mostly because otherwise they'd be reprimanded for the mess.

Trunk in hand, Harry turns back to Ron with a roll of his eyes. "I swear, you're more worried than I am."

"You should be worried!" Ron replies as Harry drags his trunk downstairs to the living room, where the fireplace is already lit and the box of floo powder is open.

Harry reminds himself to close the box after they take a pinch. If the powder gets any more stale, he'll be walking into plain fire, and _that_ is something to actually worry about. To Ron, he says, "It's just a auror's conference, okay? We'll arrive in NYC, have some fun, sit through some panels while hung over, and the week will be over before we know it."

"Or I'll spend the whole week helping my best mate through the disappointment of finding out that his pen pal is a stalker or a serial killer or just really damn weird. Come on, I know you only signed up for the conference because it means you can meet the mystery man."

"I would've signed up anyway," Harry valiantly says.

Ron gives him a dubious look. "You know there will be a hundred people asking for a firsthand account from the war."

"Maybe I'm pulling a Lockhart and reveling in my fame." Harry shudders even as he says it. Just the thought of turning into a dark-haired version of Lockhart is enough to turn his stomach. The war has been over for going on a decade and even now, Harry doesn't take it lightly. The whole reason he became an auror was to prevent the wizarding world from ever breaking apart so badly again. He'd never just sit back and write some autobiographies while being hand-fed grapes, or whatever it is that Lockhart did before the accident that landed him in St. Mungo's spell damage ward. "You ready to go?"

Ron looks around, then huffs and calls out, " _Accio_ trunk."

With a bit of banging around, the trunk flies down from Harry's guest bedroom and nearly hits Ron in the face. Unlike Harry, Ron upgraded to a newer trunk when his fell apart during their final year at Hogwarts. After being used by five different Weasleys before Ron, it seemed it finally had enough and no repair charms had been able to keep the seams together.

"Now I'm ready," Ron replies, grabbing a pinch of floo powder. "Just— all I'm saying is—"

"A premature I told you so?"

"I _will_ tell you so," Ron huffs, then throws the powder in the fireplace and calls out, "Ministry atrium!"

Harry isn't as convinced, but he follows Ron through the floo. Almost immediately after he steps through, he realizes he forgot to close the box. Too late, he thinks, resolving to buy some more after they get back from New York. There is already a group of aurors standing near the renovated fountain. Harry and Ron join them, easily joining their fellow junior aurors' excited conversations about what they're looking forward to. It's the first time Harry, Ron, and the others from their auror academy class have achieved the seniority to be invited to the conference—or, in the head auror's words, the trust that they won't embarrass the department in another country—while their older counterparts have attended for years.

A long rope portkey deposits them in the lobby of a grand hotel within New York City's magical district. There isn't that much to see, but Harry and Ron look around anyway, both grinning when they turn back to each other. It's the first time either of them has been out of the country.

"Hermione's missing out," Ron says before some of the joy leaves his expression. A few of the aurors brought their spouses and partners along for the trip, but Ron and Hermione are on the off stage of their on again, off again relationship.

Harry searches for a distraction, and says, "Her loss. Come on, let's check out the rooms."

Ron and Hermione are his best friends, better than any Harry has ever had, but they've broken up an average of once a year over the six years they've been together. Each time, one of them will move into Harry's guest bedroom at Grimmauld Place, mope around a lot, and drive Harry to escape to the attic to get some time to himself. This round, it's Ron's turn, while Hermione occupies Harry's lunchtimes in recompense. Harry loves them both, but he loves them a lot more when they're on good terms.

Even worse, Ron's projecting his issues onto Harry's situation with his pen pal. The letters began innocently enough.

Harry had been having an issue with learning occlumency due to his crazy past. Between being a former horcrux, having Voldemort and Snape pry into his mind in the past while he'd still been a teenager and his mind and magic were still developing, his inability to sit still long enough to meditate, it had proved impossible. Unfortunately, it was required if he ever wanted to do serious undercover work. He'd discreetly asked around for someone who may have had a similar issue, saying that he needed help 'for a friend', and ended up getting advice from Theseus Scamander, one of the senior aurors. That advice led to sending a letter to someone Theseus knew.

With some trepidation, Harry only signed off with his first name. There were many Harrys out there—three in the auror department, even—many of them even named after the Boy Who Lived. It felt too private to add his last name, too intimate to use a false one. In return, he received a letter from Percival, an auror who'd struggled with a similar issue after a legilimency attack during his childhood.

At first, Percival only sent letters with tips and techniques, while Harry responded back with what worked and what didn't. As time passed, their letters became friendlier, easier, deeper. It's a similar intimacy to what Harry has with Ron and Hermione, if different. There's a lot Harry can put down in writing that he can't seem to speak aloud. That doesn't mean that his feelings for Percival are romantic.

Neither does Harry spend time wondering what Percival looks like, or thinking about dueling him, or daydreaming about meeting him in person. It hadn't been feasible until now. For Merlin's sake, they hadn't even exchanged full names. Theseus occasionally gave him odd looks about the continued letter-writing, although Harry hasn't been able to find out why.

But now that they're attending the same convention, they've made tentative plans to meet on the first full day of the convention, and it may or may not be the only thing Harry's thought about for a full month.

It's a _friendship_ obsession.

"You have that look on your face again."

"The look of platonic companionship," Harry replies. The department would only spring for doubles, so Harry and Ron are bunking together. Harry drops his trunk next to the bed closest to the door and checks his rumpled schedule. "Opening dinner and reception is at five."

"Sightseeing? Hermione made us an itinerary before we broke up."

"Just leave the romantic stuff off."

"I already crossed out the library tours," Ron replies, misty-eyed.

First thing Harry will do when they get back to London is work on getting them back together, because this is torture. They spend a few hours walking around the city's magical district, wander into a hidden dark arts shop by accident, leave hastily, then wander toward muggle Manhattan. Too soon, it's time to apparate to their hotel, change into some proper clothes that won't get them a glare from the head auror, and head down to the reception.

Harry and Ron arrive when one of the top MACUSA officials is beginning his speech. There is magic behind his voice, allowing it to reach everyone in the room without ever being pitched too loudly. Harry would have paid attention even without the magic.

"I'd like to welcome all of you to the twenty-eighth annual Auror Convention. As you may know, I am Director Percival Graves of the MACUSA DMLE—"

Harry can see the man's mouth open and close. He must be speaking, but Harry can't hear a single thing.

 _Percival_.

Logically, he knows that Percival is not an uncommon wizarding name. Both his former headmaster and his best friend's brother had a Percival in their names, even if Albus had a few other names, and Percy never used his full name.

_Percival._

Harry swallows. His mouth is dry. In the span of a single moment, he realizes he'd been kidding himself that his feelings had been purely platonic. It had been something that he couldn't admit to himself when he'd been halfway in love with a faceless, half-nameless man. Now, all Harry can do is watch him speak and wonder how he could have missed the fact that he'd exchanged letters with one of the highest ranked people within the magical government of the United States. Harry had known his Percival wasn't a British auror, but _Director_ Graves isn't even at auror at all, even if he'd been one before his promotion.

And, Harry realizes with some trepidation, how can he now think that Director Graves could have been unaware of who he spoke with? Harry's stupid heart keeps jumping between dread and joy. Still, he isn't about to pass up this chance.

"Ron," he says. He doesn't need to say more.

Ron, who knows the name of the pen pal Harry has been sighing over, is on the _exact_ same wavelength. "Yeah, okay. Don't bring him back to our room. I need somewhere to sleep!"

Harry ignores him in favor of making his way to the front of the room. Now that the conference's opening speeches are over, aurors and other attendees are milling about the room, trading introductions and professional anecdotes. Harry sighs in relief once he sees Percival is alone for the moment. As Harry approaches, Percival looks up, and Harry can see the exact moment Percival's gaze flicks up to Harry's scar before returning to Harry's eyes.

Percival extends his hand and Harry takes it, a rueful grin on his lips. "You're not an auror."

"Once an auror, always an auror," Percival corrects him. His handshake is warm, firm, and his eyes are warmer. "I'd wondered."

In retrospect, Harry should've tried harder to hide his identity. His particular issues are pretty unique, though he'd only obliquely mentioned the horcrux. "What did you think?"

"Quite a lot," Percival replies, and Harry smiles wider. Percival still hasn't let go of his hand.

It's strange to combine the image of his Percival and Director Graves, but Harry can manage it. They occupy different spheres, countries, everything, and yet Harry sees the same affection he feels reflected in Percival's eyes. "Me, too."

 _I told you so,_ Harry plans to say to Ron, but not for a while. He has too much to say to Percival, first.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [tumblr](https://wynnefic.tumblr.com/).


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